What do I even say

And the nail in this particular scenario is Stiles.

I find it very strange and honestly OOC for him that he just. Leaves Erica and Boyd with the Argents. Says and does nothing about it. Yes, I know, we all like to point out that Stiles suggests murder as a solution often, but honestly, when he does, it is a legitimate solution to their problems. But Erica and Boyd aren't a problem, and even if they aren't friends, they aren't people he'd leave to be tortured and more than likely murdered by the Argents, who probably aren't his favourite people in any situation. And yes, I know, his dad, but here's the thing. The Sheriff is worried about him, a given. But physically, the Sheriff isn't at all in harm's way. He might be stressed, but him being stressed about Stiles is not new. Erica and Boyd are in real, immediate, physical danger. They are, at present, hooked up to a power source and being continuously electrocuted and held hostage by Thee family of werewolf hunters who have a disturbing record of ignoring their so-called "code" whenever they feel like it and aren't above killing innocents, humans, and children.

And we see that Erica and Boyd aren't being watched in the basement. When Stiles is put down there, it's just them, same when Chris comes down later to let them go. I'm sure the house itself is guarded, but they don't have eyes on them at all times. And Stiles canonically makes a habit of breaking into places he shouldn't be.

Granted, if he did go back and get them out (I'm not talking about a fight, I mean flat-out booking it bc the Argents aren't stupid enough to open fire in the middle of their own residential neighbourhood), maybe Erica and Boyd wouldn't go with him. It's not out of the question. They were leaving anyway. But imagine how. Galling. it'd be, to be a werewolf, stronger and faster and able to heal from mortal wounds, a creature right out of myth, and be shown up by a human. Not saying they were 100% wrong for running away. There were bad decisions being made all around – them, Derek, everyone. But Stiles is the same age as them. He's human. And he's staying in the fight. He doesn't have to. He could've just gone home. But he came back for them, even after they've been antagonistic towards each other. And he's going back still after being beaten by Gerard.

Maybe it's pride, maybe it's shame, maybe it's an instinctively, impulsively formed pack bond. But I think they'd go back with Stiles.

But here's the next layer. If Stiles isn't home, there's no one to bring Lydia. The whole deal of her going to Stiles to cry about Jackson's "death" makes no sense (why wouldn't she be with Danny, Jackson's best friend and one of her actual friends? Instead of the weird guy who behaves so creepily and inappropriately towards her and who also does not like Jackson, was bullied by Jackson, and was under a restraining order filed by Jackson for kidnapping him?), other than the fact he's literally the only other available character who can bring her in. Scott, Isaac, Allison are all preoccupied with the Kanima, same with Derek and Chris, and no way in fucking hell would she go anywhere with Peter. Even if Stiles is "in the know", Lydia's made a point that she does not want to be in the know. She doesn't want to be involved. But The Plot has to happen and Stiles is all that's left, so they just huck her to the Stilinski house, forget logic.

But no Stiles means no Lydia means no magic miracle cure for Jackson.

Not saying that the cure wasn't a cool reference to werewolf lore (calling a werewolf by their Christian name was a "gentler" myth of curing them, along with presenting them with their human clothes), but it also had notes of deus ex machina, IMHO. The whole season has kept up this Scott vs Derek sub-arc, Scott being the "right" one for wanting to cure and save Jackson, even if that means many other people die in the meantime, and Derek being the "wrong" one for wanting to kill the legend-even-to-werewolves, nearly indestructible, mind-controlled creature whose sole purpose is to kill and can't be reasoned with and is about to evolve into its Even Worse form, even though him/his pack are being blamed for these deaths and being wrongly hunted for it. And it's their contrasting attitudes towards this situation (saving one life no matter what vs taking one life to spare how many more) that make the cure feel like. Something of a cop-out. Rewarding Scott for all the shitty things he's done by adding a little "I told you so" on top about curing Jackson, and reinforcing his stance about there always being a "moral" solution. Which isn't feasible or realistic in any way. Sometimes all the options are shit, and making the hard choice is necessary. Even Derek acknowledged that! He tried to take the cure path too, when it was an option! And look where it got him!

But imagine the fucking satisfaction of having Stiles come in, metaphorical guns blazing, with Erica and Boyd instead. And the Kanima was already this close 🤏 to evolving, which was the Whole Point of them scrambling the past two episodes—they are out of fucking time. The Kanima is about to turn into something bigger and nastier, with goddamn wings (which means it can't be tracked on the ground, that it has an avenue of escape none of them can follow), and it is being controlled by Gerard fucking Argent. Matt the Rat was a petulant teenager with superiority problems. Gerard is a goddamn sociopathic serial killer who has no issue with manipulating his children (where do you think Kate got it from?) or his granddaughter, even killing them to get what he wants, and has been shown, multiple times, to not have any semblance of morals, empathy, kindness, anything. He killed an Omega in the first episode just because he could. He said out loud in his introductory speech that he was going to kill any werewolf he found in Beacon Hills, innocent or not, just because he could. Gerard is not someone you roll the dice on, and he is not someone you leave in control of a nigh indestructible monster like the Kanima.

And instead of the....Everything that happens with Scott and Derek and Gerard (I will never be over it, McCall can McCatch these fucking hands), we get the first real incident of the pack acting like a pack. Instead of seeing the Argents work together better than the literal pack animals, we see the werewolves bringing down something bigger and badder than them together.

And tbh, I wouldn't have been that upset by Jackson dying for real. As far as everyone else is concerned, he's already dead, and he wasn't that likeable. Sure, he had his sympathetic moments, and there's times I felt bad for him, but he was still an entitled asshole who begged, bribed, and blackmailed his way into getting the bite because his ego was just That fragile. If he'd stayed around and got some more development, showed some growth, it'd be different (IIRC, Colton Haynes left for personal reasons, no issue with that, I'm strictly talking about the character, not the actor), but we didn't get that, so he's just a somewhat sympathetic bully who got his lycanthropy, his cure, and then got to leave and fuck everything else, which is nowhere near satisfying. And him being a Kanima/werewolf hybrid was so fucking stupid, don't get me started.

But if Jackson had just died and stayed dead, it still could've been sad. Sad because he was still a kid who didn't deserve what he got. Sad because he did have friends and parents who cared about him and will mourn him. Sad because he can't grow up and be better. And it could've also been a wake-up call for Derek that he needs to do better as an Alpha, for the Betas to do better as his pack, for Stiles and Scott's "friendship" to get some much-needed adjustment, for Scott to maybe (but probably not) learn something about no-win scenarios and taking the path of least bloodshed instead of some unrealistic moral high road.

And the Alpha pack would still be a problem! They still have Cora! Maybe they snatch Isaac instead of Erica and Boyd, and since Isaac has no living family, it's on the pack to be looking for him (I still feel robbed we never even saw any other Reyes or Boyds) because they're the only ones who can. And I think it'd do something for Peter and his relationship to the pack as well, seeing the foundation of something with real potential, real possibility, a chance to get the Hales' star rising again.

And we get none of this.

Let Shane squeeze those cheeks for sensory input. Give me drunk Shane, grabbing up on his man at the club. Give me jealous Shane sliding a hand into Ilya’s back pocket. Give me horny Shane who can’t help but to rut against his mans ass in his sleep, then wakes him up begging to be fucked in missionary so he can continue grabbing his ass, spreading the cheeks to run a spit soaked finger along ilya’s rim.

i may not show it but at all times i am thinking about alina starkov and genya safin

Hear me out. Lemme rant.

Shane is a man of color, a gay man, and a talented man. This means that in his youth, he was a child of color in a majority white country who also may not have known he was gay or actively resisted thinking about what his body’s reactions to certain stimuli meant—and on top of those things, he’s in the Gifted/Talented Child nexus, in a majority white sport that doesn’t have the kindest history toward anything outside the Heterosexual Manly Man archetype.

Shane never stood a chance.

His clean-cut, camera-ready, squeaky clean public persona isn’t just for the endorsements. He’s an outwardly, obviously different cog in an otherwise uniform machine. He walks into a room and everyone knows one of these things is not like the others and WHY. His racial and ethnic difference means that he has to work twice as hard for half as much; conversely, he only has to fuck up an eighth as hard for three times the backlash.

Any conscious racial minority can tell you what that means. You keep your head down. You smile and nod. You grind and you work harder than everyone else to prove that you deserve to be here. You straighten your hair, or you cut it to fit what’s “in” with the majority crowd. You code-switch and keep your tone soft, volume low. You watch the shows and listen to the music they like—not because you enjoy it, but because the majority culture expects you to know about these things. They’re the default and you’re expected to know this stuff. Anything to fit the mould and make sure you’re safe; safe to the majority and safe from them.

Masculinity and sexuality add to the nexus of assimilation for Shane. He has to check himself and his mannerisms, what he says, how he looks, for anything that might be perceived as feminine or gay. He spends years offering a tight smile as his teammates talk about picking up women or their hookups after a great game. He does his skincare routine in secret after away games and acts like he doesn’t know what the fuck toner is, because apparently caring for his body’s largest and most protective organ is feminine behavior. On the rare occasion he joins the Metros at bars, he drinks when he doesn’t want to because he can only refuse so many times before “Hollander must be on his period” starts up.

So much of Shane’s public behavior is meant to put his straight, white male colleagues at ease around him. It’s been an unfortunate necessity to build his career thus far, but it’s also fucking exhausting. He’s tired.

That’s why, after he comes out to Ilya and Rose and his parents, he starts changing things. Small things at first, but they grow over time as he realizes how much of himself he’s shoved down over the years.

He stops hiding his skincare kit in hotels. It’s rare for him to share a room with anyone as captain, but if he does? He’s in the room by 9, oil cleansing by 9:15, deciding between a sheet mask and a wash-off mask by 9:20, and gently patting in his moisturizer by 10. Retainer in, reading glasses and jammies on, travel humidifier running on the nightstand—because it’s good for your pores. You can look 50 when you’re 30 if you want, Hayden, but I choose moisture.

He hires a stylist after breaking up with Rose and starts experimenting with clothes. It occurs to him one night that everything he owns is comes in neutral, muted tones. He tries bright, bold colors. Ruby red, royal blue, emerald green, obnoxious highlighter yellow. He tries different cuts and silhouettes, and pointedly ignores stares from Comeau when he strolls into an early practice in black jeans that look painted on instead of sweats.

For the first time ever, Shane buys accessories other than sunglasses and his fitness-tracking watch (and the Rolexes—no, Mom, I haven’t forgotten). He treats himself to things that catch his eye without regard for what the guys will think. Nobody notices when he starts wearing a gold bracelet. Nobody knows that the diamond choker he’s wearing in the latest Versace shoot is his, kept in a special box on his dresser for special occasions with Ilya. No one has a clue that he got his ears pierced at the end of one season so they’d heal before the next one started.

But the crowning achievement? The pièce de rèsistance? Shane grows his hair out.

At first, he tells his parents that he just hasn’t found time for a cut. Busy schedule, Dad, no time. It’s a lie, and one that he almost fesses up to when he gets past the awkward shaggy phase and his mom won’t stop looking at him anxiously. He tells them a half truth instead; that he’s just trying something new. He’s almost 30 and tired of looking the same. Plus, Mom, you saw the reactions on Instagram. People love it!

The truth, the full truth that Shane has only ever admitted aloud to Ilya, is that he’s done. So fucking done. Years of bending and stretching and contorting himself into the perfect player, teammate, captain, man, and he’s completely over it. He’s proven that he’s the best (second best, if you ask Ilya). He’s shown time and time again that he’s not just that one Asian guy or a blip on people’s screens. He’s a force to be reckoned with and regardless of how he looks, be it the manly man presentation everyone expects or an undefined look of his choosing, his skills are never in question.

I like to think that Shane was given the nickname by David. When he was a toddler Shane was obsessed with any and every type of bug. He’d make David and Yuna take him in the garden all the time to dig for worms or look at the flowers to see if there were any bees. But his absolute favourite were ladybugs leading David to coin the nickname Shanebug.

Obviously once hockey took over his life Shane kind of forgot about his bug obsession. But once he gets settled living in Ottawa with Ilya he starts to pick it back up.

When Shane and Ilya went round to his parents for dinner he offhandedly mentioned that he was planning on adding some plants to the garden so more insects and bugs would visit. And David goes suddenly silent and starts to get teary.

David: Oh Shanebug is back

Ilya: Shanebug, what is a Shanebug?

This leads to Yuna getting out all Shane’s toddler pictures showcasing him holding a ladybug in his hands, him covered in mud pointing at a worm with the biggest grin on his face and him cross eyed as a butterfly lands on his nose. Ilya’s favourite though is a photo of Shane dressed up as a ladybug for his third birthday, antennas and all, that he gushes over.

Yuna and David constantly had to correct people, but they thought it was hilarious.

“Oh no, he’s only 6 months. He’s just a big boy.”

“He’s exclusively breastfed. No, we don’t overfeed him.”

“His pediatrician says he’s perfectly healthy.”

“Yes, our backs hurt from carrying him around, but he’s perfect.”

Ilya sees baby pictures of Shane and wonders how a spoonful of marshmallow fluff became sentient.

I’m using that as an intro for two (2) concepts/ideas:

1. Group Chat Shane is definitely different from Shane In Person, and the only thing he’d fear almost as much as being outed is the contents of the Melanated Musketeers (shut up, Bood named it) chat being leaked. He’s said Some Things. Nothing bad, mind you, but he has an image to maintain and the memes he’s sent or reacted to in that chat would ruin him (in his mind; they’re objectively not that bad).

2. The chat was called The Chocolate Factory and specific to black players until JJ realized that Shane runs when he sees black people running. There’s a unanimous vote to change the chat name to Melanated Madness (they go through several name changes over the years). When Vaughn adds Shane to the chat, he doesn’t mince words.

Bood: Yuh have sex?

Vaughn: 😒

JJ: 😂😂😂

Vaughn: ANYWAY

Vaughn: These white boys are on one today

Vaughn: Tell me why one of the rookies just asked me if my favorite food is fried chicken

Bood: Laaaaaawd 🤦🏾‍♂️

Shane: I beg your finest fucking pardon?

JJ: Eskize m? Padone m?

JJ: Names. I need names.

Vaughn: Pretty sure cap’s still got him doing bag skates lmao

Vaughn: But damn, way to fuck up my day

JJ: They’re collectively on one today tho. Comeau asked me at lunch if I’ve ever sacrificed a goat before

JJ: Bc voodoo 🙃

Shane: JJ, what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?

*JJ is typing*

Shane: Don’t answer that. I just remembered why.

Shane: I ate natto for lunch today and Drapeau complained about the smell. I must’ve left the room before Comeau started up.

Bood: 😱 Lawd Jesus, these your white boys?

Bood: Couldn’t be me!

Bood: Roz side eyes anyone who sings all the words to rap songs lmaoooo

JJ: Not you giving me a reason to be nice to the Russian Menace 😒

Vaughn: Who said anything about being nice? It’s still fuck Ilya Rozanov all day, everyday round here

Shane: He’s not that bad all the time

JJ: 🤨

Shane: He’s a monumental asshole, don’t get me wrong

Shane: But I can see him being decent about this

Bood: Not too much pon my captain! He’s a menace, but he’s still invited to the cookout.

Vaughn: WOAH. No. No more cookout invites.

JJ: He can have a to-go plate. No foil, no mac & cheese corners. A drumstick if I’m feeling generous day of.

Shane and JJ started speaking French with each other when they first met, but Shane noticed something strange. Well, no, not strange—different. That’s the appropriate word.

Every once in a while, JJ’s accent would change and he’d use a word that didn’t sound familiar. Ak instead of et. Dlo instead of eau. Manje maten instead of petite dejeuner. A tone and inflection change that didn’t sound like what Shane was used to hearing.

Shane’s not exactly known for his social skills, but he’s a wiz at pattern recognition. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. JJ’s got three languages tumbling around in his head and sometimes it’s easier to slip into the default when the words get jumbled in the others. Sometimes Creole slips out because he can’t find the right word in another language. Sometimes, when he’s comfortable, he shares this piece of himself that feels like home.

They don’t talk about it. Over the course of their friendship, it just becomes the norm for them. JJ eventually realizes he’s doing it, but also notices that Shane’s responses in French and English make complete sense. He understands what’s going on. He doesn’t make a face or ask for translation—he hears the new word or phrase, integrates it into their own personal lexicon, and keeps it pushing. He learns a whole new language for his best friend.

Over time, JJ uses more and more Creole. Full sentences, minutes-long rants about his mom calling him in the middle of the night, explanations of a movie he saw that Shane might actually take a break to watch. Shane gets a thoughtful look on his face and always, always responds. Sometimes it takes him a second, but he absorbs the new knowledge, incorporates it into the special three-way language they’ve built together, and smiles back when JJ lights up.

The rest of the team hasn’t picked up on it. Not even Hayden, their third musketeer. JJ and Shane don’t talk about it. It’s…it is what it is. They know why. They just don’t need to talk about it. They both get it.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so badly when JJ finds out about Rozanov.

He’s not homophobic—never, never would he do that to Shane, or anyone else. But Shane, fuck. We’ve been close for years. I share my language with you. I share my culture with you. You made me feel at home when nobody else would. You’re a Haitian brother from another mother to me. I trust you with parts of me that nobody else we work with has ever bothered to understand! We’re the only non-white people in here, we stick together like glue!

No—it’s because one thing Ilya knows is two things for certain. One: Shane is the best. THE best. Ilya talks a big game and he can back it up because he’s a generational talent in his own right, sure, but he is not Shane Hollander. He teases his husband and calls him “second best player in the league” because it gets Shane in a mood that always leads to fun (and that’s business that stays between Ilya, several ruined sets of sheets, and the thin walls of multiple hotel rooms). When you get down to it, he’s the famous and amazing Ilya Rozanov, yes, but that’s…that’s Shane Hollander. Shane “break the internet, top two and I ain’t number two” Hollander. Shane Thee Hollander.

Two: despite being Shane Thee Hollander, first of his name, baddest of bitches, and the Beyoncé of their field (and a cutie patootie on top of all that), Shane is not loud about his accomplishments—and Ilya thinks he should be. Shane lets the accomplishments speak for themselves. He achieves, breaks records, wins and wins and fucking wins some more, and just keeps going. He’s a force of nature. Ilya thinks his husband should have an opportunity to be loud, braggadocious, and downright obnoxious if and when he wants because, again, he’s Shane fucking Hollander.

So when Shane starts off a conversation with “I’m going to say something kind of mean,” Ilya rolls out the proverbial red carpet. Talk your shit, baby. I’m all ears.

“He’s really confident for someone with such low shooting accuracy.” Exactly. The nerve of him to even breathe your air, much less chirp at you.

“…but if I showed up in that outfit, Twitter would never let me hear the end of it!” You’re so right. He looked awful.

“Fuck him! And not in the good way!” Yup! Say it again! Matter of fact, let me get you a microphone.

“I love Hayden—as a friend, Ilya, Jesus—but maybe a vasectomy is a good idea.” I’d put ten babies in you if I could, but you’re still absolutely right about this. Jackie’s had enough.

“I respect Scott, but he’s not exactly in his prime, you know?” Scott is a dinosaur. It’s a miracle that he dodged the asteroid and made it this long without turning into dust. We should call and tell him ourselves.

“Our wedding was better.” Of course it was. I got to marry you. Any event with you at the center is the best. All the others are bullshit.

“I’m not taking that shit from some fucker with a receding hairline and no points for an entire season. Pick a struggle, asshole.” We should book him a flight to Turkey for one of those procedures. Can’t fix the other thing, though.

After Shane and Ilya are outed, then playing on the same team, I guarantee that underlying fear of Shane gets exponentially worse.

The problem? Ilya don’t duck fades—never has, never will. That menace of a man actively seeks out fades for himself and others. Oh, we fighting? I want some of that. I need that. Call me Ryan Coogler, because I get involved in that.

The bigger problem? Shane has some sort of sixth, seventh, and eighth sense for Ilya. He doesn’t have to be in the room, building, or country to know when his man is up to some bullshit. He also doesn’t have to know who started it and doesn’t particularly care. Be on your best fucking behavior, because you put your hands where? You raised your voice at who? You said what? Yes, I know we play an inherently violent sport, but you checked him into the boards a little too hard for my tastes. It looked personal, so now it’s personal. Seems like you had a problem, so now we have a problem. No, I don’t like how you looked at him while asking that question, so now I’m staring you down until you learn to watch your goddamn tone.

The biggest problem? Ilya knows. He knows and he loves it. Talk to me nice, my man is listening. Watch how you approach me, my husband is very protective. Don’t look at me too crazy, my baby can get crazier.

Ilya is Slavic. That’s really all there is to it. There is no deeper explanation and he will not provide one. If you keep being weird about it, he’ll start giving you made up reasons just to fuck with you. Why? Because fuck you, that’s why. Who just goes around asking people to explain their faces? Rude.

Shane is Shane. He’s a neurodivergent baddie who’s in his own head a lot. No, he’s not pissed off; that’s just his face. No, I promise you, he’s not plotting a murder. That’s seriously just his face. Yes, he knows, we’ve all mentioned it at least once because we thought we did something wrong. That’s just his default face.

Post-outing, Ilya’s Slavic stoicism and Shane’s…Shane-ness don’t magically go away, but the public notices a shift as they stop hiding their relationship. They show up places together now, holding hands and existing in each other’s personal space without having to excuse it with the Irina Foundation. Their respective reputations for Resting Bitch Face take a major hit when their default faces start popping up less and less in pictures. IG comments document the change.

Ummm…anybody else notice Rozanov’s always smiling now? 🤔

I thought Hollander was a robot. I ain’t never seen robots smile.

Look at them! They’re so happy 🥹

When will happiness like this find me?

Is this what married sex do? Just rewire your brain?

Bro’s Slavic face? Gone. Perma-smile.

Demons on the ice, gummy bears in real life.

Have Hollander’s teeth always been so white? I don’t think we’ve ever seen them this much.

How much you wanna bet Roz has been a loverboy this entire time? Yes Shane, anything you want Shane, anything for you Shane. 😂

Did we know Roz had a dimple on his left cheek? Holy shit.

Got Shane “RBF” Hollander smiling like it’s candy and rainbows around here…Ugh, I hate them both so bad.

- Actually or…?

- Fuck no, I love smiley Hollanov. I hate that I don’t have someone to be this cute with!

It’s funny until one comment makes Ilya squawk indignantly.

Rozanov - Looks like he’ll murder you, is actually a cinnamon roll. Hollander - Looks like he’ll murder you…probably will, just happily now.

“They know I am soft,” he whines, not doing himself any favors as he throws himself down on the couch and pouts dramatically. “My reputation is ruined! A whole career as the sleep paralysis demon of hockey players worldwide, destroyed by a beautiful man with beautiful freckles. I will never recover, Shane!”

Shane smiles softly at the comments and tangles his fingers in his husband’s wild curls. “How tragic. The world knows you’ve got a soft, gooey center.”

Ilya continues pouting (“That is lie, liar told you that.” “I can see you with my own eyes.” “Your eyes lie. Russians do not pout.” “I mean…you’re Canadian now.” “…Shane. SHANE. How can you say this?!”). He huffs and crosses his arms petulantly.

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles, eyes drooping in relaxation as Shane massages his scalp. “They still see you as a threat. I am Mister Cinnamon Roll now.”

“Then I’ll threaten them enough for both of us, baby.”

Ilya smiles sleepily and puckers his lips, wordlessly demanding a kiss. Shane obliges without hesitation.

“Chopping carrots with Ilya,” Shane sings under his breath. “Making salad with Ilya.”

Yuna smiles softly from the dining room. This is one of her favorite things about her son. From the time he could (barely) talk, he made up little songs about anything and everything. The first time he’d done it, he’d been strapped into his car seat and watching cars go by. When he’d caught Yuna’s eye in the rear view mirror, he’d smiled with all 8 of his little teeth and waved.

“Dwiving,” he’d sung, all of 18 months old and barely able to say the word properly. “Dwivin’ wi’ Mama. Wuv Mama.”

Yuna’s not sure if it’s Shane’s way of processing the world around him, just A Thing some people do, or something special about her baby boy. All she knows is that from the first time he’d made up a little tune about Driving With Mama, everything turned into a song. When he’s comfortable and feeling at ease, Shane turns little things around him into music.

Learning to tie his shoes? “Daddy’s teaching me to tie my shoes. One lace over the other. Make the bunny ears!”

Gearing up for practice when he was 8? “Going to practice. Gonna be great. Gonna score a goal!”

Studying for a science test? “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. Everyone says it because it’s true. Moving on—organelles and cell walls.”

Gearing up for his first Metros game as captain? “Taping my hockey stick. Going out on the ice. Gonna kick some ass.”

It’s something so uniquely, adorably, perfectly Shane.

Today, though? As Shane’s in the kitchen preparing a salad for lunch? For the first time, someone else sings along. For the first time in Shane’s life, someone hears the tune and lyrics that only exist in his head and joins in.

“Making salad with Shane,” Ilya croons along, hooking his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulder and wrapping strong arms around his waist. “Preparing lunch with my love.”

Shane smiles and sings back as Ilya nuzzles his neck. “Being domestic with my boyfriend. Thinking of boring things we can do together.”

Ilya laughs and kisses his ear before finishing the song. “I love to be boring with yooouuuu.”

Shane pauses on the other line, breath catching as he holds back overwhelming emotion.

“Mom,” he croaks. “I…fuck.”

Yuna stays calm. She mentally takes stock of the situation. Ilya’s fine—he just texted her, a few seconds before Shane called, to warn her of the incoming storm. David’s fine—he’s sitting right next to her, confused and alarmed as their son has some manner of episode on the phone. She’s fine. So what’s—

“—wi’ Dada!”

…oh. Oh.

It’s soft at first, but picking up in volume. Tiny pit-pats in the background accompany the most beautiful little voice Yuna’s heard since Shane made up his first song, Driving With Mama, from his car seat all those years ago.

“Eating,” the little voice sings in the background. It’s garbled by what Yuna assumes are half-chewed remnants of an afternoon snack; probably organic peanut butter on apple slices. “Eating wi’ Dada. Eating wi’ Papa. Dada on phone! Who on phone, Dada?”

There’s wet laughter in the background, further from the phone. “Oh God, Shane. It’s genetic. She’s a little you!”

More tearful laughter, this time from Shane. “That’s not—she’s adopted, Ilya.”

“I don’t care what the papers say. She is you. Listen to her, she is perfect. She must be part you, sweetheart.”

So, Hayden breaks the news that Shane and Ilya kissing has now become public property to anyone with an internet connection and the insight we receive into Shane's reaction to this news through his POV is that "Shane's stomach plummeted. […] Shane couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow. He was going to die from choking on his own saliva. [...] He was choking on rage and fear and humiliation, and trying to remember how to swallow." So, essentially, a pretty classic panic response.

May I remind you that Shane has been terrified of coming out for the entirety of the book? And, sure, he and Ilya have decided that they will do it this summer but that's still months away and we haven't really seen him work through is actual feelings on that - which I know is because Rachel isn't interested in exploring that but I can justify it internally with Shane pushing back his processing because it's a problem for a later date - Only, now they're out. No two ways about it. And once again, he didn't get the chance to tell people on his own terms. Once again, he was forced into it through circumstances outside of his control.

And Ilya's reaction to this is to reassure Hayden that it's okay, that they were going to come out anyway soon enough "but now [they] do not have to", and that it was their own fault for not having been more careful. Now, that last part is what really gets me because I read Shane as being entirely too prone to self-blame and here Ilya is, not only failing to help Shane through his worst nightmare becoming a reality but actively saying it's his fault that they're in this situation (their joint fault but still, there is no way Shane doesn't internalise that).

Hayden tells them "the video is fucking everywhere," that people's reactions are "mostly, like, 'what the fuck?' or 'holy fucking shit' or 'is this a fucking joke?'" That there are people who think Shane should not be allowed to attend practice with the team and, presumably, think he should be benched or dropped. That their teammates reactions are along the same lines, and that "practice is going to be weird this afternoon", if he's even allowed to attend it. At no point during that conversation does Ilya attempt to check in with Shane emotionally.

Even after Hayden leaves, he still doesn't ask how Shane feels or try to provide him with comfort. Instead he pulls up the video and laughs about it. I get that Rachel was trying to get him to diffuse the situation with humour and, supposedly, he succeeds at that since Ilya manages to get Shane to laugh too, but if that's going to be the approach then you need to give it more conscious thought and be more deliberate in engaging Shane in seeing the funny side of the situation. As is, his laughter here reads, to me, as a slightly hysterical panic response or him trying to mimic Ilya because he feels that's the "correct reaction" to have.

Ilya suggests calling their agent and Shane ends that call feeling "numb" at which point this conversation occurs, with absolutely no pacing, immediately after the phone call ends: Ilya: “Farah will help.” Shane: “I’m worried she can’t.” Ilya: “I know. I have to go back to Ottawa now. Our plane leaves in a few hours.” Ilya asks if Shane will be okay, he says no, he'll be "a fucking mess", he asks if Shane thinks his team will be okay with the news and Shane tells him "Probably not at first. I don’t think Coach is going to be okay with it. Or management. Or, like, anyone."

Ilya has no words of encouragement, no moment where he allows Shane to freak out about this, no actual check in over the fact that Shane's life has imploded and he's now left to sort out the debris. He just kisses his hand, tells him "one thing at a time," and then he leaves.

There is literally no way for me to read that as anything other than callous and insensitive and I just don't buy it, not from my Ilya. My Ilya has more emotional intelligence than that. My Ilya recognises Shane's anxiety and knows how to support him through it. My Ilya would never fucking downplay the dumpster fire of the leak to this degree and then just leave Shane to deal with the fallout which, crucially, Ilya knows will be worse for Shane than for him. He doesn't actually anticipate any problems with his own team, he says so himself.

and shane says, "who is it?"

"lily!"

"oh." shane immediately sets aside what he's doing and walks over, saying to his mom, "that's ilya."

yuna looks at him in confusion as he picks up his phone. "why is ilya saved as 'lily' in your phone?"

and shane looks at her, away, shrugs as if it's obvious and simply says, "I can't have ilya rozanov saved on my phone, mom" before answering the call with a, "hey, baby" and walking away.